


Just to keep you warm (just to bring you home)

by Elisexyz



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra Grant Ward, Hydra Jemma Simmons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 15:57:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14855760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: “I ran into some trouble,” she says, trying to come up with the best phrasing tonothave Grant arrive with an army and make a mess – it’s not really the ‘mess’ part that worries her, that’s kind of inevitable and very much appreciated, she’d just want a bit of discretion for now, to avoid catching Coulson’s eye on top of everything else.





	Just to keep you warm (just to bring you home)

**Author's Note:**

> For the Tumblr prompt: ["Stay there, I'm coming to get you." and "I'll meet you half-way." + Biospecialist](http://heytheredeann.tumblr.com/post/174605063594/stay-there-im-coming-to-get-you-and-i-will).  
>  ...I'd like to formally apologize to Jemma for this. I love you, babe.

She takes a deep, steading breath, trying to resist the urge to snap at the cashier staring at her in horror, his fingers probably still itching to call the police. Jemma is very glad that he decided to listen to her and hand her a phone instead, in spite of the blood and dirt that she’s covered in, because she doesn’t think that she has the strength to overpower him and make sure he doesn’t get her captured once again.

It’s five rings before Grant picks up.

“ _What?”_ he snaps, clearly pissed at someone. She’s not in the least surprised, considering that it feels like ages since when she’s been taken and she’s sure that Grant wasn’t happy with her going off the radar. She’s done it before, a couple of times and out of her own volition, but he does tend to assume the worst if he doesn’t get at least a couple of phone calls.

“It’s me,” she simply says.

A pause. “ _Jemma!”_ he all but yells, a note of unmistakeable relief in his voice. “ _Where the_ hell _did you disappear to? Is everything alright?”_

She bites her bottom lip, which turns out not to be a smart move when she reopens some cut and she starts tasting blood. “I ran into some trouble,” she says, trying to come up with the best phrasing to _not_ have Grant arrive with an army and make a mess – it’s not really the ‘mess’ part that worries her, that’s kind of inevitable and very much appreciated, she’d just want a bit of discretion for now, to avoid catching Coulson’s eye on top of everything else.

Another pause. He’s probably trying not to yell at her in frustration. She appreciates it. “ _What kind of trouble?”_ he finally asks. He actually did manage to sound pretty calm, it’s impressive.

“The one that involves waterboarding,” she states, coming to the conclusion that there’s no way to sugarcoat this and no point in not mentioning the part of her staying in SHIELD that left her the most shaken up – she’s always had a bit of a problem with water and drowning, and Grant knows it very well: maybe he’ll hear her silent plead to not give her anything else to worry about.

Mercifully, Grant actually doesn’t freak out. Externally, at least. “ _Okay_ ,” he breathes, after many seconds of silence. “ _Where are you?”_

Jemma supplies the exact location of the gas station that she was somehow able to limp to, thanking god that she managed to find _something_ in that desertic wasteland and that she didn’t collapse before getting there, and Grant draws a sigh of relief before announcing that he’s actually in the area. Jemma can’t help the smile that twists her lips – albeit painfully – at her luck. She thinks the universe does owe her some kindness after what it just put her through.

Grant orders someone to give him some keys, then he adds: “ _You just stay there, alright? I’m coming to get you_.”

“Don’t speed,” she automatically reprimands, because she knows him and his driving skills are beyond questionable on a good day, let alone when he’s this agitated. “And I’m meeting you half-way,” she adds, without much thinking. She hates having the cashier’s eyes on her, she’s pretty sure that if he had to stare at her for another minute he’d try to convince her again to call the police, and, last but not least, the thought of standing there and just _hoping_ that Gonzales’ men won’t catch up to her makes her heart race with overwhelming anxiety. She’s made it this far, she can keep walking some more.

“ _I promise I’ll be quick_ ,” he protests. “ _You shouldn’t be walking around_.”

“I am not staying here,” she insists. “I know what I’m doing.”

Grant snorts, which is very unfair and very hypocritical, coming from the guy who won’t lay still unless both his legs have been cut off, but he doesn’t immediately argue, probably wondering if it’s worth trying to begin with.

“ _Fine, if you’re sure_ ,” he gives in. “ _But only if you can keep the phone and keep in contact all the way_.”

Jemma shakes her head slightly, a small smile on her face. “This isn’t mine, but I think I can work something out. I’ll call you back.”

“ _I’m coming to get you_ ,” he reminds her, which is much appreciated at the moment.

“I know you are,” she says, softly.

When she asks for another glass of water, the cashier complies without any protest. Then he predictably tries to get her to call the police, again, and it takes longer than she hoped for Jemma to talk him into giving her a burner phone for free and letting her walk away. She doesn’t think she’s ever wished this hard for her lab equipment and something to sedate him with.

Walking is painful. She mercifully doesn’t remember every moment of her torture – it’s probably because of the shock, or maybe because she was drugged at some point, she isn’t sure and right now she doesn’t think she has the strength of mind to press the issue –, but they must have done a number on her, because simply _breathing_ hurts, every inch of her body aches and her throat is in flames, which kind of makes her want to close her mouth and only breathe through her nose, except that that way it doesn’t feel like enough air is coming in and she starts panicking, her body convinced that she’s suffocating again.

On the phone, Grant keeps talking about raiding some base for supplies, about finding some interesting samples in their lab – even though he clearly has no idea what he’s talking about here, she appreciates the effort –, and pausing every now and then to make sure that she’s still panting on the other hand of the line.

Which she obviously is.

Her legs scream at her to just stop already, but the thought clenches her stomach with anxiety and, as she turns back to make sure that there’s no one following, she somehow manages to make it for another two feet, and then three, four— every inch of her just wants to _stop_ and rest, but she can’t help panicking at the – maybe a bit irrational – conviction that it’d be the death of her.

“ _You could rest a minute_ ,” Grant suggests, after a few seconds of silence that he probably spent debating whether to bring this up or not.

“I’m fine,” she reprimands, her voice hoarse and the words coming out with excessive effort. “And I know you are speeding.”

He doesn’t even _try_ to deny it. “ _You can yell at me when I get there_.”

“If you don’t crash.”

“ _I won’t_.”

She doesn’t know how long has passed, too worried about surviving each minute to count them, when the inevitable happens: she accidentally lays too much weight on her injured leg, her knee gives out and she ends up on the ground, breaking the fall with her hands automatically, which spares her face but not her ribs.

She can’t help crying out in pain, rolling to her side as she tries to regularize her breathing in spite of how much it bloody _hurts_ to do so.

“ _Jemma? What the hell happened? Jemma!”_

The phone has fallen a few inches away from her head, and as Grant yells his lungs off she makes an effort to extend her hand and grab it.

“I’m here,” she lets out, still breathless. “I fell.”

“ _Shit— are you hurt?”_

“Just as hurt as I was before,” she says, dragging out each word with difficulty and trying to brace herself for getting up. She’s not staying _there_ , lying on the ground, waiting for them to get to her and give her some slow death— “Just more pain.”

Grant curses under his breath, and she’s 100% sure that he’s actively trying to travel at speedlight right now.

“ _Just sit down and wait for me_ ,” he says. “ _Please, I’ll be there as soon as I can, just stop making it worse_.”

She hisses in pain as she pushes herself in a sitting position, thanking god that she was walking by the side of the road, or she’d have to somehow crawl away from where she might end up being run over.

She really does want to get up, but she has nothing to hold onto to pull herself up, and her right leg just won’t cooperate. Plus, she feels very light-headed, and she’s fairly sure that she’d straight-up faint if she attempted it.

She’s stuck there. Stranded and powerless, waiting for a rescue, helpless until then. The thought brings tears to her eyes, and even though she furiously pushes them back her breath comes short.

“I don’t think I can get up,” she says, and it comes out strangled and pathetic and she’d just wish for Grant to be _there_ already.

“ _Then just sit there and wait for me, sweetheart_ ,” he replies, gently. “ _I promise, I’ll be there before you know it_.”

“Okay,” she sniffs, bringing up her hand to wipe away the tears that in the end managed to fall down and realizing a few seconds too late it’s all scratched and dirty and that she probably just ended up getting more blood on her face. “Okay,” she repeats, a bit more firmly, still not convincingly.

She keeps looking at the road in the direction that she just came from, and she can’t bring herself to stop feeling like she’s about to suffocate, or cry, or throw up, or all of those at once.

Grant talks the whole time. It helps a bit to have something to hold onto, even when her head starts getting foggy and the sun burning her skin seems to get more and more unbearable and she’s too lost in her own panic to actually pay attention to what he’s saying. Once again, she doesn’t count the minutes – or hours? – that pass before she sees a car arriving at predictably horrible speed.

He pulls over and basically jumps out of the car, leaving the door open and running to her. She’d like to get up, throw herself at him, because she hasn’t seen him in more than a month and she’s _missed_ him, and right now she just needs him more than ever. But she can’t move, so she just stares with more tears building up in her eyes.

“Hey, Jem,” he calls, softly, crutching down in front of her and taking her face into his hands, she doesn’t know if to make sure that her eyes are focused, or to take a better look at her injuries, or just because he likes her face so much. Either way, the result is that he gives her a perfect view of his reassuring smile and it makes her want to cry, a lot.

“It’s okay,” he adds, soothingly, shifting a bit closer and pulling her into an hug. She doesn’t protest, letting her head fall against his shoulder and wrapping her arms around his torso. She can finally allow herself to go limp, knowing that she won’t be falling in the middle of the road, knowing that she’s safe and nobody is coming to get her now. Even if they did, Grant would destroy them all before they could even get _close_ to her. She’s safe now.

“I have a quinjet waiting for us, then you’ll get a nice long shower and—and a couple of lazy days, alright?” he says, and it comes out rushed the way it does when he’s trying to take a grip and not quite managing it because he feels that the situation is out of his control.

Jemma laughs quietly, nodding against his shoulder. She doesn’t really have the energy to explain to him that he’s already made things a whole lot better for her and that he can relax.

Grant takes a deep breath, his hands rubbing her back up and down for a few seconds before he says: “How about we get in the car now?”

She nods, and she lets him scoop her up in his arms without a protest: she’s hurting and she’s tired, she just wants to _rest_. Her pride can shut the hell up until she’s had a good night sleep.

Gentle as he is, it still hurts a whole lot. She tries not to let it show too much, but she is really too tired to manage it anywhere near decently, and she can see the concern and bloodthirst way too clearly on his face.

Grant just apologizes for hurting her and doesn’t say anything else as he buckles her in.

Jemma lets her head drop against the headrest, drawing out a small sigh of relief that obviously ends in stabbing pain, but she’s sitting in a _car_ , it’s considerably less hot than under direct sunlight, she has something to rest her back against, and she can feel some of the tension leaving her muscles, finally.

As Grant turns the car around to go back to where he came from, he stays silent, and Jemma allows herself to close her eyes, tired enough that she’s sure she’d probably fall asleep immediately if it weren’t for the pain.

“Sorry, I didn’t think of grabbing any painkillers,” Grant says, as if reading her mind. She cracks her eyes open to see that he’s staring at the road, his stance unnaturally rigid and his hands gripping the wheel way too tightly. “Or water,” he adds. “Or— anything, really. Sorry.”

“I’ve never heard you apologizing so many times in a row,” she comments, a ghost of teasing smile on her face. He doesn’t laugh.

“Who was it?” he asks instead.

She swallows. “Gonzales.”

Grant bites back what’s probably a curse, then he gives a sharp nod, his eyes still fixed on the road. “What did they want?”

As if he didn’t know already. “Intel,” she voices anyway. “I didn’t say anything.”

This time, he does turn towards her, glaring. “You _should_ have,” he reprimands, and if she didn’t know him so well it would have sounded aggressive rather than concerned and scared. “You should have told them everything.”

“I’ve seen you shoot people for less,” she counters. Not that her loyalty comes from fear of retribution: she would never give him up, it doesn’t matter if she isn’t actually trained to withstand that kind of treatment, it doesn’t matter if she’ll get herself killed.

“You are not just anybody, Jem,” he says, and he sounds almost as tired as she feels.

She smiles slightly. “I know,” she replies, gently. “But our vows go both ways, and I’m not betraying you.”

Grant bows his head for a second, exhaling as if to try and calm himself down.

“Listen,” he begins, shooting her a pleading look. “I know that you—you wanted adventure, and to get out of the lab, I get that, but—”

“Don’t worry,” she interrupts, knowing full well what he’s trying to ask. “I’ll be staying with you, for the time being. Until— you get over the scare.”

He sends a grateful and a touch amused smile her way. “Thank you,” he says. They both know that she isn’t only staying for _his_ peace of mind, but it doesn’t need to be voiced.

Truth is, as much as she started working around various bases, moving from place to place all the time, moved by a longing for adventure that she’s had since _forever_ , right now the only thing that she desires is the warmth and comfort of her wedding bed, the safety of her lab, the support provided by simply knowing that Grant is around at all times and even if there _was_ a danger he’d run to her immediately, and she wouldn’t be alone in it.

Right now, the thought of going away again only brings her to the brink of panic.

Grant has started talking to someone on the phone, and it takes a few seconds for Jemma to focus enough to make out the words.

“—and a list of all of Gonzales’ known bases,” he’s saying. “ _Yes_ , I know I said we’d let them kill each other, but I’ve changed my mind. We are with Coulson on this one, I’ll make sure to let him know where to send the fruit basket when I’m done taking down the bastard for him.”

Jemma scoffs a little at that, amused at the thought of Coulson’s _face_ upon realizing that Hydra is actually taking down his opponent for him.

She apparently tuned out the rest of the conversation without meaning to, because by the time Grant’s voice reaches her he has already put down his phone and he’s staring at her.

“Do you remember any faces?” he asks.

Jemma nods. Some of them she doesn’t think she’ll ever forget. “Some names too.”

Grant smiles, soft and affectionate. “Good. We’ll get them all, I promise.” He pauses. “Would you like to have a crack at them?”

Jemma licks her lips, feeling her stomach dropping at the still very vivid memory of fingers gripping her arms, pushing her down and holding her still, hands pulling her hair to make her lean back, fists colliding against— “I’ll probably need some test subjects,” she says, trying to get her head to pull herself out of the loop. “It’s been a while since I’ve worked on living bodies.”

Grant barks a laugh at that, and it still sounds strained and she can see the tension in his shoulders and the way he keeps checking her out as if he hoped to make her injuries disappear by sheer force of will, but it’s the most beautiful sound that she’s heard in a while, and she can’t help joining in with a quiet chuckle of her own.

“That’s my girl.”


End file.
